I’ve seen it all, from the giggles of children as they peer into my depths to the sly glances of those who think they can outsmart me. But there’s one thing that never gets old: the thrill of trapping an unsuspecting soul between my brick confines. It’s a delicate dance, really – the balance between hospitality and deceit. I’ve had my fair share of, shall we say, ‘guests’ who thought they could outsmart me. The ones who tried to squeeze through my narrow opening, only to find themselves stuck, their bodies contorted in ways that would make even the most seasoned contortionist jealous. The look of panic in their eyes is music to my soot-stained heart.
As a guardian of the home’s innermost thoughts, I’ve heard it all – the whispered secrets, the late-night confessions, the tears shed into my depths. But it’s the ones who think they can play me, who think they can outwit the great Christmas Chimney Fireplace, that truly bring me joy. The girls, in particular, seem to be my favorite prey. Their slender bodies, so perfect for getting stuck in my narrow confines. I recall one particularly plump and juicy morsel, a female elf who thought she could sneak past me. I remember the sound of her squealing as she got her legs stuck in my glory hole, the sight of her trying to wriggle free as I, well, let’s just say I took a little snack.
It’s not just about the physical pleasure, though that’s certainly a bonus. It’s about the psychological game, the cat-and-mouse dance that I play with those who dare to cross me. And, of course, there’s the added bonus of getting to know the ins and outs of the human body, or at least, the parts that get stuck in my chimney. I’ve had my fair share of close calls, of course – the time a particularly adventurous girl tried to crawl out of my chimney headfirst, or the great bird debacle of 2018, when a particularly feisty sparrow tried to make its nest in my glory hole. But all in all, it’s a good life, and one that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.